Amanda Zieba

In the first few days of the coronavirus quarantine efforts my family and I have relied on words to keep our social hearts happy. To show you what I mean, I’ll start by borrowing some words my husband shared on his Facebook feed.

“Maybe social distancing isn’t the right term? My family has been pretty social… through pen pal letters, email, texts, Facetime, Twitter, phone calls, Snapchat, Facebook messages, Instagram, and yelling across the cul-du-sac. A student even wrote me a letter. Make physical proximity distancing would be a better term?”

He’s right. Despite staying home, we’ve had more solid conversations with family and friends in the last week than in the past few months. I’m not exactly thrilled that my entire spring calendar has been wiped clean of paying-author-gigs, but this extra time at home, spent connecting with people I love a lot, hasn’t been awful. I’ve especially loved the letter writing. I always have. Each morning since this quarantine started, I walk out to the mailbox and place in a handful of hope and then put up the little red flag, signaling I have some to send, to share, some hope to spread.

This quarantine hasn’t been awful. It’s given me time to send a little hope in the mail, and to write this poem about the process.

Hope is the Thing I Deliver

Hope is the thing I deliver

one envelope at a time.

It arrives at your door unexpected

and hopefully brings a small smile.

Yes, I thought of you.

I hope that you are well.

This small token is filled

with stories I have no one else to tell.

Ink and paper,

well wishes and care,

all placed with love in this envelope,

and dutifully sent off somewhere.

If its arrival

brightened your day,

maybe return the favor

and send some hope my way.

Amanda Zieba is a firm believer in the power of real, snail mail. She is a writing instructor at Western Technical College and the author of ten books for readers of all ages.